


Invented

by charmedtomeetyou



Series: Jimmy Eat World [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charmedtomeetyou/pseuds/charmedtomeetyou
Summary: Followup to "Cut" and "Always Be." Killian and Emma are navigating their rekindled relationship and trying to figure out how to let go of the past in order to make way for a better future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so apparently I just couldn't let this 'verse go until I gave it a real conclusion. So here it is! 
> 
> (I feel like you probably do need to have read "Cut" and "Always Be" to fully understand or appreciate this one, but I'm certainly not stopping you from reading this if you don't want to read the other two!)

**I’m one more here, some old-time pioneer / who believes with shaken faith I still have some cool**

 

It was a funny thing, being in a  _new_  relationship that wasn’t really new at all. 

Parts of it were new, of course. They had almost nine years of life to catch up on with each other so they had no shortage of conversation topics, for sure. It was almost overwhelming how much she needed share with him – every milestone of Henry’s, of her own police service, of her parents and her friends and the renovations she did to her house by the water (always thinking of her Captain, even when he wasn’t  _hers_ ) – and he had things to share as well. The  _good_  he’d been able to do in the Navy after all the bullshit died down. The friends he found in the men whom he’d saved. But his life had been – well, far more  _empty_  than hers. 

It hadn’t been her fault. Nor was it his, not really. Like she’d always said, it had felt like the whole  _universe_  had conspired against them, had fucked up their perfect storybook life. Reality had been the reason she’d walked away, after all, not  _Killian_. And she’d made a life in her (lonely) years. Mostly filled with Henry, but he wasn’t it. Even without him, if – god forbid – drunk Emma had had enough sense to ask that man from the bar to wear a condom, her life would still have gone on. Killian – he hadn’t seized the moments the way she had. In a lot of ways he’d crumbled in on himself after she’d made that hardest decision of her life to bolt. And some days it ate at her.

 _This_  day being one of them.

Henry and Killian were working on making an apple pie for the next day’s Thanksgiving dinner at the Nolans’ when the two of them realized something funny – just two years before that very day, Emma and Henry had been standing two blocks from Killian at the city’s big Thanksgiving parade. 

“Oh my god, you saw the balloon pop, too?? Mom, Killian had to have been  _right_  by us!” Henry was so excited about the discovery that he’d forgotten how floury his hands were, his emphatic gestures sending ghost-like poofs all across her already fairly wrecked kitchen. Emma’s initial reaction had been to smile and roll her eyes, chuckling at the oddness of the universe (and the messiness of children, of course), but as soon as her eyes connected with Killian’s, all mirth was gone.

Killian responded to Henry, of course, and smiled and forced a laugh (“Aye, it about scared me out of my pants”), but his eyes were clouded and tortured.

The two of them continued their mixing and cutting and chatting, but the moment the pie was in the oven – and Henry was off to the living room for a video game break – Emma pulled Killian to her bedroom to talk.

“Want to tell me what that was, Killian?” She asked, tugging at his hand until he sat next to her on the bed. 

(There was something so … odd? About the fact that they hadn’t yet used that bed – or any other – for a certain activity they were once quite fond of. But in their two months of dating, they still had never once spent time together without Henry in attendance. And there were complications beyond that, too – he’d said he felt that they should get to know the “new” versions of them before relying on old habits to rekindle their fire. And she’d agreed, sure, but it was still something that wasn’t often far from her mind, that she loved him so deeply she could feel the buzz of it when they weren’t even  _touching_ and yet it had been the better part of a decade since he’d been inside her.)

Killian didn’t respond, not at first. He seemed far off, like he was contemplating if – or how  _much_  – he should actually tell her. But her gentle squeeze of his hand and her whispered  _please_ seemed to remind him of their  _honesty_  thing, and it all came flooding out. 

“I was drunk off my ass that day, love. Alone. Miserable. I’d thought of you. Not that I didn’t think of you every day in the days we were apart. But I distinctly remember wondering where you were, if you were having dinner with your family or – god forbid – the family of your adoring boyfriend or husband. Those last three shots I did at the pub had your name on them, really. And you were right there! We were breathing the same air. But you were living your life and I was  _wasting_  mine.”

His voice was strained, broken. “Killian, don’t – ”

“Don’t tell me not to worry about it, Swan.” (His voice broke, as did her heart.) “And don’t tell me all that matters is that we’re here now. I  _know_  that. But imagine – god, what if I’d stumbled your way  _that_  day? Do you really think I’d be making pie with your son right now? No. You’d have looked at me with pity or disgust and you’d have thought  _yep, I jumped off that ship just before it sank_ , and that would have been the end of it.”

“Killian!” Emma shouted his name, yanking her hand from his and standing up forcefully. Painfully aware of her son’s perfect hearing, she lowered her voice before she continued. “Don’t you dare put words in my mouth or thoughts in my brain. You’re not the only one who thought of us every day and it’s not as if I was pure sunshine. If we dwell on the bad days and the  _what ifs_ then we’re never going to make it to the point where we actually have  _dates_  let alone graduate to an actual relationship. So, yeah, it sucks that we were apart and we were apparently too stupid to just  _call each other_ , but don’t act like if I’d run into you on that street it couldn’t have led here. I loved every part of you and I  _still_  love every part of you and if you think for one second I would have celebrated your suffering then why the fuck are you with me today in the first place?”

You see, it was  _hard_  being in a new/old relationship. Because two months in, you don’t  _have_  those sorts of fights. You don’t blurt those sorts of things out, and you certainly don’t have enough tragic backstory to even patch together a drama worthy of that length of speech. But they were anything but ordinary – even back at their  _first_  two months – and she knew they’d get through it. They’d get through this. Even if it involved a little more shouting, just for good measure.

“Emma, don’t you know how much worse it makes me feel that I didn’t try to actually  _become_  something? I promised you once that I was a survivor. And, sure, I was right. But that’s  _all_  I did. I just kept breathing. I shouldn’t have needed you to keep me going, no matter how deep my love for you was (and is). Do you know how  _weak_  that makes me feel?”

“Weak?” she sat back down beside him, her leg curled so she could look him straight in his eyes, taking his face between her palms. “Killian, you  _survived_. I know you didn’t become what you wanted to, but the world was against you in so many ways, and you still kept going. You know how much I hate the whole  _everything happens for a reason_  platitude, but you kept yourself together enough to walk yourself into that museum and right into our lives and I’m going to need you to focus a little bit more on that level of fucking  _miracle_  so I don’t self-destruct with guilt that my walking away from you  _ruined_  you. OK? We made our choices. And our choices were based on some pretty shit-ass circumstances. We don’t have a time machine to do anything different, so can we just agree to please,  _please_  not compete for who’s the bigger fuck-up? That’s a game we’d both lose.”

He chuckled at her attempt at comfort (and a bit of dark humor) and she sank into him, tucking her head under his chin as her lips brushed against his neck. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

 

Dinner might have been great if it weren’t for the coldness coming from her family. Sure, they saw how happy Emma was to have him back in her life. And, more importantly, how much Henry  _loved_  Killian. But they were still hesitant, still fearful that the other shoe would drop, and – not necessarily through any fault of his own – Killian would destroy Emma. And Henry, too, this time. 

The news cycles had been pretty full, it being a dumpster fire of a year, so at first Emma and Killian being spotted in public together (with a child who looked an awful lot like him) hadn’t stirred up much. A few tweets here and there, a couple of random people asking for photos with them or commenting on something they’d seen Killian in on TV. One older couple simply thanked Killian for his service and commented that he looked like he was whole again as he sat tucked into Emma’s side, watching Henry play flag football with his friends from school at the playground. 

But with the election over and everyone (desperately) looking for distractions, Killian’s change in relationship status had finally made some actual news reports. 

_Your 2007 Self Will Be Happy – Everyone’s IRL OTP Killian Jones and Emma Swan BACK ON_

_Scandal Alert: Naval Hero Killian Jones and his Secret Love Child_

_15 Things Less Surprising Than Killian Jones Getting Back with The Blonde Who Broke His Heart_

_Killian Jones Spotted with Ex… and Their Son?_

Emma’s parents had been called numerous times by “reporters” asking for comment. Emma and Killian had been semi-stalked at the park, the grocery store, and the coffee shop. Photos of them at the museum the past  _two_  Thursdays had been plastered all over the internet, wild conspiracy theories accompanying each of them that made Emma bite her tongue until it bled. 

 _It was happening all over again_ , she’d cried to her mom the Monday before Thanksgiving.  _She was never going to get a moment of peace_.

Well that confession had been a mistake because it had only made her parents grow even  _colder_  toward Killian for all the things that were and  _weren’t_  his fault. And after  _begging_  him earlier to just let all of the pain go, her parents were doing everything they could to make sure it was on his mind.

Every. Single. Second.

“I would suggest we go ice skating after dinner, but we wouldn’t want you being photographed again…” Mary Margaret had said (oh, so passive aggressively).

“We’d also fall down and throw up our dinner, if that means anything to you,” Emma had mumbled.

No one had responded.

“I’m just worried about Henry, that’s all,” David had justified after bringing up yet  _another_  tweet on his phone referencing their reconciliation. 

“He’s eight years old, Dad, he doesn’t have Twitter.”

“But you know he reads this stuff.”

“ _He_  can hear you! And he’s not a baby and therefore can handle himself,” Henry snapped from the other room (in an oddly mature comment despite his immature tone).

Emma was getting pretty sick of Regina calling every three hours to alert them of something new and awkward on the horizon. The stress had made her lose her appetite for stuffing (a real tragedy), and had left Killian so tense he was pulling his damn hair out of his head while sulking in the corner of her parents’ sitting room, and no matter how many times Ruby tried to break the tension with a dad joke or a comment on the latest Marvel movie, nothing was making the afternoon any more tolerable.

So Emma made a decision. 

“Henry!” she whisper-shouted from across the room. “Let’s take a walk.”

(It was probably a dick move to leave Killian in there with the wolves, but Graham would save him, right? She hoped.)

“Mom,” Henry groaned, exasperated. “I promise I’m OK. I know Killian isn’t my dad, but I don’t care. And I don’t care what people say about him or us. I only care about what’s actually real! Please don’t break up with him.”

That gave her a shock. “Break up with him? Oh, kid, no. Never. That’s not – I just wanted to get your permission about something. I know that you say all of this is OK, but I say it’s not. I don’t like it and we don’t deserve it. And I have a plan. But I need to know that you’re OK with the plan before I start it.”

The glint in his eye was enough to know she’d won him over before he spoke. “Soooo, it’s like a secret operation?” he asked excitedly, and she was suddenly both thankful and regretful of those mail-order detective/spy games she’d gotten for him last Christmas.

“Yeah, kid, kinda like that,” she said on a laugh, guiding him to the bench in her parents’ back yard. It was cold – obviously, it was November – but there wasn’t much snow and their jackets were warm and poofy and any good secret operation required that no eavesdroppers were present. 

The plan was simple:  _steer into the skid_. The question was already out there – just like she and Killian had both known it would be. Is Henry Killian’s? Are they back together? The speculation made it all so juicy and interesting and so worthy of “news.”

But you know what wasn’t interesting? Answers. Concrete answers. The last time around Emma and Killian had listened to Regina, had tried to out manipulate the news, the public, the Navy, everyone. They played the game and they’d lost.

Well _fuck_ the game. 

“What if we told everyone that Killian  _is_  your dad?”

 

Killian agreed to the plan faster than Emma could actually  _explain_  it. As fraught with tension as many of the most recent days had been, their deep, almost-telepathic connection was as in-tact as ever, Killian somewhat adorably finishing her thoughts.

“… and, yeah, our downfall  _was_  in going along with it. We’re _honesty_ people. We should try honesty this time!” Killian banged his fist on the kitchen table, causing Emma’s parents to jump from across the room (and Ruby to  _laugh_ ).

“Except the tiny lie about my DNA. But that’s not a big deal!” Henry interjected, so  _sold_  on this plan that it made Emma’s heart skip. 

“Are you  _sure_  you want to go along with this, Henry?” Mary Margaret asked quietly from behind him. “You’ve only known Killian a couple months and this will cement him in your life. Forever.” Emma could tell she was just trying to help, to be the “voice of reason,” but it still grated on her. Emma gritted her teeth for Henry’s sake, but thankfully Henry wasn’t having it, anyway.

“First of all, grandma, he can  _hear_  you. Second of all, he’s already in my life forever. Even if he and my mom break up he’s not going to just leave me. He still visits Bae, even though they didn’t talk for a long time. And they’re not going to break up anyway. Not if our plan works! I know you’re trying to look out for me and mom, but you’re being awfully rude lately and it’s not very nice.”

Emma stifled a laugh when she caught her mother’s look of shock and she swears she’d never been so proud of her little man who, yes, might not be Killian’s blood, but really did seem to be  _his_.

 

Ruby was the only one of the bunch with a working Twitter account (and a fairly sizable following), so they decided to use her handle for the “announcement.” Regina was going to  _kill_  them for not clearing this with her first, but hey – clearing things with her had never led to anything good in their lives.

(Not to suggest that their pain had been her  _fault_  – no, nothing of the sort. She was dealing with circumstances of her own. But the definition of insanity was repeating the same actions and expecting different results.

And they were damn well not  _insane_ , despite what Regina would certainly say later on.

Emma sat in the loveseat in her parents' living room, Henry and Killian positioned on the couch across the room. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweatier than that time she was stuck under the stage lights for the Tonight Show and realized she'd forgotten a bra (tabloids had fun with  _that_  one). But this needed to be done. Yeah, it was going to make everything worse for a little while, a metaphorical explosion akin to the one that took Killian's hand, but the aftermath, with any luck, would be so very different. Finally they might be  _free_.

Ruby pulled a chair from the kitchen so she could sit directly in front of Emma, her phone tilted to its side and pointed at Emma's face. She was looking casual that day - it was Thanksgiving at her parents' house, not someone's goddamn wedding - and she figured that played even more into the deep honesty of what they were doing.

"Ready when you are, sweetie," Ruby offered with a solemn nod. 

Emma nodded in return and Ruby hit record.

 _Deep breath_.

"Hey, everyone. Happy Thanksgiving! I, uh - I have a lot to be thankful for this year and I wanted to share that with you all. On my terms, though. Because, well, I'm sure that by now you've read some story about me and my son and Killian Jones. There are enough photos and rumors out there that it will bring you no surprise that I'm spending this wonderful holiday with him at my side. But I wanted to clear the air about everything... else. You see, Killian and I had a good life, way back when. And when he came back injured, well I thought that'd be the hardest thing we ever dealt with. But.. it wasn't. No, unfortunately that came after. It came in the form of reporters hounding us. People using him and his story to make money. To gain attention. And so many of _you_ \- with good intentions or otherwise - only fed the flames. I made appearances after I left Killian and said it was mutual and amicable. And maybe that wasn't  _wrong_ , but it wasn't right either. Because we never should have left each other. And I shouldn't have felt like I couldn't go back to him afterward for the safety of our son, Henry. I just wanted my kid to have a normal life... even if it meant a life without his father. Now... it was wrong of me. I admit that and Killian and I have been working on that on a _personal_ front. But it's _not_ actually your business. If you truly value what Killian did for the other naval officers, if we really are your real life OTP, please,  _please_ , just let us be. I wish you all the happiness - and all the turkey you can possibly eat - today, but please respect my two very favorite men, and allow us some privacy." Ruby slowly panned the phone's camera over to the couch where Henry was tucked into Killian's side, the two of them waving and Henry saying "Happy Holidays!" before she tapped the screen to end the recording.

_Deep breath._

 

Regina was fucking  _furious_. "You realize you'll be in deeper shit if they found out he's not Killian's? If you two break up? All you did was draw more attention to yourselves, you imbeciles!" She'd actually FaceTimed them, so pissed apparently her voice alone would not suffice. Emma had suggested he ignore the call, but he disagreed. 

"We're steering into the skid, Swan. This skid included."

 

And at first it was  _far_  worse. Emma's video, after it was uploaded to Twitter, was retweeted about a billion times, replayed on every news program in existence, and analyzed to hell and back. Even Doctor fucking Phil was weighing in on her word choice, her body language, and, as she suspected, her "casual appearance."

It was annoying, but not  _terrible_. People were forming opinions, of course, but she found there was a certain level of relief she felt that those opinions were at least based on her own fucking words. They weren't speculating about anything outlandish - just mostly weighing in on how they would or would not have done the same as Emma herself.

Not that she read every single "news" piece about them. But truly their actions had been a risk. She couldn't just ignore the big old can of worms she opened. No, she  _had_  to pay attention. Gauge the reaction.

And a funny thing happened. After about a week, it all just sort of... subsided. Suddenly the articles featuring Emma and Killian's paparazzi shots were more focused on commenting on the paparazzi itself than inventing any juicy  _Emmillian_  gossip. More and more of the blog posts were talking about how  _right_ Emma had been, had been chronicling other love stories and relationships that were destroyed because of too much public interest. 

And about a week after  _that_? Well there was nothing.

Ruby continued to share some small updates on her own Twitter - pictures of Emma and Henry or Henry and Killian or the three of them. Just domestic fluff, really. And it got attention. Retweets with heart-eyes emojis and strings of "awe" and "cute" with far too many vowels. 

But they'd done it. They'd "controlled the message." They'd taken back their lives.

(And, again, Emma was just the tiniest bit bitter, guilty and  _sad_  that they hadn't thought of this eight years ago. All that wasted time...)

But there was no sense dwelling on the past when the present was at their fingertips.

 

**I could leave you here with your people / if I’m a flag you’d not prefer to wave**

 

Killian had been all manners of terrified when they'd decided to post that video. Sure, he knew what they were trying to do - learn from their mistakes. Take a different road and hopefully end up at a new destination (happiness, really). But the "public" was unpredictable. News cycles were unpredictable. They might end up being so drastically wrong that their relationship would end in days.

It was a risk. They all knew it.

But it had actually paid off. There was a flurry of interest for a while, but after a few weeks they were mostly anonymous all over again, getting the barest recognition in public - mostly just waves and smiles and the occasional "I'm so glad you two found each other again" (which Killian would always follow up with  _I'll always find her_  and the fans would blush to all hell). But it felt as if for the first time since before he lost his hand he could actually fucking  _breathe_.

They still had their issues, of course. The both of them tended to unintentionally dwell on the past, their lost time, what they could or should have done differently. And they were about three months in to relationship #2 and  _still_  hadn't had a solo date or a single romp in the sack (not that he'd ever reduce her to a  _lay,_ but his blue balls were making him pretty crass at this point). 

It wasn't that they hadn't tried. One night after Henry had gone to bed, the two of them stayed up to watch a movie on the couch. Turns out the movie wasn't all that interesting - especially not when the most beautiful woman you've ever met was licking the shell of your ear while her hands were down your pants. They were just  _breaths_  from retiring to the bedroom when there was thunderous creaking on the stairs and a streak of brown hair whooshing toward them. The lad had watched a movie at his friend Avery's - the kind that wasn't meant for young boys - and had a series of horrifying nightmares as a result, each more awful than the last. 

Killian slept over that night, of course, but there was no funny business – no, there was nothing but a scared boy cuddling between his "parents."

(That made his heart skip a whole different kind of beat.)

About a week after that, Emma finally caved and asked Henry if he'd be OK staying with his grandparents for a night so she and Killian could go on an actual non-Chuck E. Cheese date. 

"Finally!" Henry groaned. "I've only been dropping hints for you two to ditch me for  _weeks_."

Killian took Emma to an adorably charming (yet fancy) Italian place, their hands (and prosthetic) linked together as the waiter poured the wine. The evening was nothing short of magic - even though he and Emma had private conversations via text, on the phone, or when Henry was asleep or in a different room, there was something just so freeing about not having to worry about his language, his flirting, his attentions.

(It caused a little pit of guilt that he was feeling  _free_  away from Henry - he really did consider him a son - but Emma kept reminding him: everyone needs some peace, some privacy, and  _definitely_  some alone time.) 

But just as they were getting to that private alone time, Emma's dress already on the floor and Killian's pants around his ankles, strange sounds started rumbling from both of their bellies. _In the moment_ and so very horny, they both tried to power through, tongues tangling and hands roaming despite the slight abdominal pain.

Until Emma let out the loudest fart Killian had ever heard.

"Oh, Christ," she moaned (and not in the good way), and not for the first time Killian was thankful that Emma had two bathrooms because the subsequent three hours were best spent in private, no matter how True their Love really was.

After the food poisoning, they were determined, really, and entirely ready to compromise with the universe. It didn't have to be some epic, wonderful, fairy tale coupling. They just needed to... get it out of the way. So in that spirit, they'd finally gotten some eight-years-in-the-making, mind-blowing yet surprisingly brief sex two days later on their lunch breaks. They continued that trend all week - afternoon delights the best they could get for the moment - until Ruby offered to watch Henry again that Friday. 

"But I don't want him to think we're trying to get rid of him or something. It's OK, we can wait to have a proper night together until next week," Killian had assured Ruby that afternoon when he was saying goodbye to Emma at the police station.

"Uh, Graham texts me constantly in the day and even when you two come back from 'lunch' with sex-hair and love bites, Emma's  _still_  so on edge that even  _he_  is stressed out for you. You  _need_  this, guys. Please."

Emma had agreed and Henry had been excited for a movie night with his favorite aunt and uncle and Killian had gotten his hopes up for completing the Kama Sutra in its entirety after they ate a quick dinner that night, but no.

The universe disagreed.

Regina had called more times than was really considered  _normal_. Things had died down and his Naval desk job wasn't exactly high-profile, so her PR skills were rarely needed when it came to him. (Finally.) But when he finally turned  _off_  his phone so he could turn  _on_  his girlfriend...

Well, that's when his girlfriend's phone rang.

(Fucking universe.)

"Killian," Emma whined, his lips steadfastly  _not_  leaving her neck. "She'll just keep calling. And then she'll show up. And I'm not much for exhibitionism."

"She wouldn't dare walk in here. She's shared a wall with us at hotels before. She'd know better." ( _And she did_. She'd requested different  _floors_  from them after a particularly loud encounter, not that it was really necessary. Not by the end of things, the first time around.)

"Killian," Emma said more firmly, and he finally relented, reaching into her back pocket and sliding open her phone.

" _What_ , Regina?"

"We have a situation," was all she said.

 

That situation's name was Belle Gold. And she just so happened to be Henry's step-grandmother.

She was no more than Emma's age, mind you, but it seemed she was married to the father of Henry's biological father before the both of them had departed this world.

_Does it count as losing a son if he was never yours?_

Killian couldn't quite wrap his head around the whole situation, even now that he was literally face to face with the woman and hearing her story. It all made sense, it did. And she didn't appear to be after anything from them - no money, no fortune, no blackmail or shady payoff. No it seemed she just wanted to give them some honesty they absolutely  _hadn't_  asked for.

The  _honesty_  went something like this: Neal Gold was the spoiled but abused son of an asshole. He'd run away from that asshole after a particularly nasty fight and apparently had fallen into bed with Emma Swan (not something Killian ever wanted to think about, but, alas, we don't always get what we want). He'd recognized her from the TV, had known her name and her story when he'd walked out the door that next morning long before she had awoken. And when his father had found him and dragged him home, he'd confided his encounter in the one person he trusted: his lovely stepmother Belle. 

Having known who Emma was, he'd known how to find her, had known of Henry. He'd had a PI even follow them once and get pictures, but Emma had caught on fast ( _I'm a cop, Belle, what did he expect?!_  Emma had shouted), and Neal had decided to just let it ( _them_ ) go - for the sake of Henry's safety.

Neal had died that year in a drug deal gone wrong.

And his father had followed just weeks ago, right before Belle had reached out to Regina. 

"I know it seems suspicious, my timing. But with him gone, I just - I wanted to see Henry. Maybe tell him about his father? Unless he truly thinks Killian is his father, in which case I would never want to overstep."

In another life, Killian could have been friends with Belle. Probably. But in this one, she was just another reminder of how bad he'd fucked up.

 

Emma had screamed a lot, that first day. Belle, having been used to far worse, never flinched. Emma was hurt and justifiably  _pissed_. She'd  _tried_  to find Neal. But he'd given her next to nothing to go on. And, yeah, she'd been  _fine_  without him.  _She_  didn't need him. But she'd never wanted her son to miss out on anything, not  _one_  experience - let alone the one thing a kid deserves. Two parents.

(She'd missed out on that - for a time, anyway - and Killian knew how much it ate at her. Lost time came in all forms, you see.)

"And the fact that he  _knew_  who I was when he fucked me - that's just  _lovely,"_ she carried on, Killian cringing at the reminder of Henry's conception. "At least if I was just nobody then walking away wasn't the biggest dick move on the planet. Actually, you know what? If he was just going to walk away, why did he ever  _lie down_? UGH!"

After Emma had shouted it all out of her system, she finally sat down between Belle and Killian, grasped Killian's prosthetic, and spoke in a careful, even tone. "I would like to offer you the opportunity to meet Henry and to tell him about Neal."

Belle's smile was too warm and full of love for her to have been part of such a trainwreck of a family, but wasn't that how it often went? 

"I'm sorry about all the yelling. And especially about the... dirty parts," Emma whispered from the passenger seat of Killian's car later on. They'd been quiet since they'd left Regina's office - avoiding the inevitable conversation or savoring the last bits of their current normal, he supposed. 

"It's all right, Swan. I can't imagine dealing with the information you just did." It was the truth (they were honesty people), but it wasn't the whole story, of course.

Because he  _had_  just dealt with that information, hadn't he? Once again, another reminder of all the ways he fucked up.

He should have just...  _left the Navy_. No lost hand. No lost Emma. No step-son's step-grandmother cockblocking him and the love of his fucking life.

A thought he regretted even though he’d never even _voiced_ it. And that regret shifted to guilt which shifted to shame and self-loathing and before he realized what he was doing, he'd pulled off the road and begun sobbing like a newborn babe.

The oddest part was that Emma wasn't even shocked. She just reached across his lap, laced their fingers together, and rubbed little circles on the back of his hand. Eventually she leaned over the gear shift and rested her head somewhat awkwardly on his shoulder, but her warmth, like always, seemed to envelop him completely, soothing his uncontrollable grief that just never seemed to end.

"I'm still yours, Killian. And Henry is, too."

"I'm yours as well. Both of yours."

 

Henry loved Belle. And he loved listening to stories about his dad. They weren't all great stories - Belle was sure to paint a child-friendly but realistic picture of a flawed man. But a man who deeply  _cared_.

"But, grandma, it doesn't make sense. My mom is a badass. She would have kept me safe and I could have met my dad. Well, my other dad," he clarified, nodding over at Killian. (He'd been so distracted by the compliment at the end of the sentence that he hadn't noticed the expletive Emma threatened to ground Henry for his inappropriate language.)

"What? You are, mom! And he would have known that if he'd known you at all."

 

The afternoons with Belle became a regular thing. She'd moved from the other side of the country (where she'd lived with her husband) both to get a fresh start and to be closer to Henry. It was painful for Killian, thinking about this other "family" of Henry's, but it was nice, too. He and Emma were able to go on more dates. The holidays had one extra house guest. Overall, it wasn't a terrible thing.

He was finally a solid presence in his Swans' life, and he was going to do everything he could to keep it that way.

Even if that meant facing his own guilt every goddamn day of his life.

 

**Any dick can roll up in a suit / but only I could know what really moves you**

 

Only in  _her_  life would the jerk who knocked her up and ran come back into her life after A. she'd publicly named Henry's father as someone else and B. the jerk was long dead, anyway. 

She was glad, a little bit. It was comforting (sometimes) to know why she couldn't find him and why he ran. But more often she was just downright pissed at the whole thing. At this point in her life she was never,  _never_  going to regret the choice she made that night - getting drunk and pregnant led to Henry, after all - but it was just another constant reminder of how nothing ever goes like a story book.

Or, maybe the problem was that it  _did_. Because, story books and fairy tales and all those lovely, comforting poems might all end at happily ever after, but there was always the conflict that came first. The evil queen. The curse. The smooth-talking salesman that convinced the kid to buy magic beans. Didn't all those conflicts seem to conveniently lead to a better ending? She needed to focus on that _better ending_ instead of dwelling on what could have been. 

(You'd think for as often as she reminded herself of this, it would start to sink in.)

And in many ways it  _was_. She and Killian were good.  _So_  good. It was a funny thing to have known  _this is it_  from your very first "date" (both times around). They'd spent a lot of time navigating how to be with Henry but be with each other, too - how to be a family and a couple simultaneously. 

("We've done this all wrong, Swan. Can't we ever do anything the normal way?" he'd said the day she'd finally asked him to move in with them.

"Normal is overrated," she'd mumbled into his neck, crawling into his lap and riding him into oblivion on the living room recliner.)

It had been something like six months since they'd found each other again, and for the first time in too long she finally felt whole. In truth, it was probably the first time  _ever_  - while she'd been fulfilled in every way she could imagine (at the time) in her pre-bomb life with Killian, she knew  _now_ there had been one thing missing.

Henry.

"Mom! Killian! Can we please go to the science center? Grace told me about this cool class thing where you make stuff that tastes just like Coca-Cola and I know I'm not supposed to drink it very often, but it can't be bad if it's for science, right? Pleeeeease?" Henry's begging had only seemed to improve now that he had  _two_  doting adults hanging on his every word. It was bad enough when only Emma couldn't say no to him. Having Killian also on his side only made the kid more shameless. And infinitely more adorable. 

And, of course, they rarely denied him anything. 

But there was something  _odd_  about this particular exchange. She and Killian had been in the middle of a movie - one that  _he_  had picked - and yet Killian hadn't put up a fight. He hadn't even done the whole  _playful hesitation_  thing he was so good at. He'd just sat there silent and waiting for Emma to respond. 

It was all kinds of fishy. Either Killian was distracted by something he wasn't telling her, or - the more likely option - she was being set up.

 

It turned out to be the latter. When they'd gotten there, they'd joined a boy scout group taking the Coca-Cola class, but Henry didn't seem nearly as excited as he should have been if that were, in fact, the reason for the impromptu visit. No, it was like the kid was waiting for the real fun to begin.

It had happened about a half hour after they'd finished their sugary beverages. Killian all-too-casually suggested the omni-max theater that was playing a documentary on stars, and Henry pulled the  _playful hesitation_  card he'd clearly picked up from Killian before the three of them made their way inside. Despite it having been an extremely busy afternoon at the science center, they were conveniently the only three people in attendance in the massive theater.

They had sat right in the middle of the theater, reclining their seats as the room went dark, Killian taking Emma's hand and Henry leaning his head lightly against her other shoulder.

The movie started out normal enough - Neil DeGrasse Tyson talking about the wonders of the universe, the  _we are made of star stuff_  magic - when suddenly the audio cut and the video switched to a somewhat breathtaking view of the clear night sky. Henry giggled and gave Emma a bit of side-eye, and Killian shifted straighter in his seat, but when Emma's head snapped to look at his, he'd lightly nudged it back to the massive dome of a screen. "Ah, ah, Swan. Not yet."

The twinkling sky remained on the screen, but the stars had begun shifting in an unnatural manner, Orion and Gemini scattering themselves in different directions, until she finally realized the stars were moving to form  _words_.

Words she'd guessed were coming at  _some_  point, but she honestly hadn't expected  _here_.

 _Marry me_.

A smile stretched over her face and she stared for a good fifteen seconds, just soaking up the moment and actively allowing it to shove a plethora of bad memories out of her brain for  _good,_ before speaking up. "Can I look at you yet?" she'd asked teasingly.

"Only if the answer is yes. If it's a  _no_ , just keep staring straight and the astrophysicists will come back quickly and we can pretend this never happened." 

"Oh, you idiot!" She shouted, jumping out of her reclined chair and (very chastely, this time) into his lap - nearly knocking the little ring box into the next row of seats. "Of course it's a yes. It was a yes ten years ago, technically. Not that you'd asked."

She was blushing - not that anyone could see that in the still mostly dark theater - as Killian carefully slipped the modest ring onto her finger. "I guess I was just waiting until I had the perfect best man."

Henry leapt up and piled on top of the two of them (probably causing permanent bruising on Killian's hip where it was digging into the arm rest), but he made no complaint. He just hugged the two of them like it very well could be the beginning of the very best portion of their life.

 

In a slightly odd and possibly awkward turn of events, it was Belle who threw them the engagement party. With any other family, there might have been complaints or arguments, but this batch of misfits and walking complications just sort of ran with it, dancing and enjoying the fondue fountain, and posting photos online to keep the crazies away. 

(There had been an article once questioning the "new woman in Killian's life" - Belle - and suggesting there might have been some kind of open relationship arrangement. After gagging for a solid ten minutes, Emma had asked Ruby to post a photo of Emma and Belle hugging one another with the caption 'cheers to old friends and new and to the fact that not everything in the world is a love triangle, despite what modern romantic comedies try to tell you.')

 

The wedding itself had been on a Friday. Emma had just closed a grisly murder case and Killian had spent the prior week in Washington, meeting with powerful people to talk about the serious issue of mental health and military service and the two of them  _needed_  some good to focus on. Their planned wedding wasn't supposed to happen for a couple more weeks, so they didn't actually have a  _license_  - so the three of them in addition to her parents, Ruby, Graham, Belle, and two of Killian's work friends hopped on a plane and flew to Vegas. It was cheesy and Emma had to cover Henry's eyes when they walked down the streets, but they were sick of waiting. What had waiting ever gotten them?

(Mostly disappointment.)

So they rented some suits and bought some dresses and waited their turn at a tiny chapel to be pronounced husband and wife by a drag queen dressed like Tina Turner. 

They'd had their "reception" in the middle of Circus Circus and all ten of them had squeezed into a two-room suite for the night, ordering pizza at 3am and playing a few too many rounds of Cranium (that Henry had insisted they bring on his carry-on), the next morning bringing mild hangovers for the adults and a lot of abdominal soreness from all the laughter.

"I love you more than anything," Killian had whispered as they took their seats on the plane the next morning, Henry already asleep against the window.

"Right back at you,  _husband_."

 

**Having trouble with the right words / but you tell me with your eyes**

 

It was funny how being married didn't change a goddamn thing. (Just like moving in hadn't changed anything either - at least not anything beyond where he kept his storage containers and to which company he paid the electric bill.)

Their lives were still full of good and sprinkled with bad. They still had the days that felt like a goddamn miracle and the days they ruminated just a little too much on the shit that neither of them could change without a time machine and a swift kick to the head.

Today had been one of  _those_  days. 

It had started innocently enough. Henry's birthday was around the corner and they were planning out what they wanted to do. Henry was one of the easiest to please soon-to-be 9 year-olds he'd ever met in his life, but that was presenting some issues of its own. Namely, that there were simply too many options. 

"How about ice skating?"

"Are they even open this time of year?"

"Roller blading?"

"We could. Laser tag?"

"Sixth birthday. Avengers party?"

"Hmm. Justice League party?"

"Eighth birthday. Zoo?"

"Aviary would be better."

"Maybe. Baseball game?"

"Maybe. What about the museum?"

"Fifth birthday party. Jesus, Killian, do you have  _no_  memory?"

"Well it's not my fault that the damn kid loves  _everything_  and has been  _everywhere_  in this damn city before I even knew he existed!"

Like many things, Killian had regretted that as soon as it had left his mouth. A little because he just knew it wasn't fair to snap like that. Emma  _had_  told him those things. And he  _had_  remembered - he'd mostly just hoped that she would entertain a do-over on one of them so Killian might be able to experience it, too.

But he mostly regretted that what he said wasn't  _true_. 

It  _was_  his fault and he damn well knew it. And Emma's next few sentences of near-screaming only proved it. He  _hadn't_  looked them up. He  _could_  have known that Henry existed and that Emma was still out there, free and unattached. It  _was_  his fault that he'd never once fucking tried to get her back even though their love had been the strongest thing he'd ever felt in his life. 

So he'd just let her yell. He didn't defend himself, didn't try to take back what he'd said or argue with her logic. She'd been right.

And his first instinct was to call Robin or Will, crash on their couch for the night and let Emma cool off. But then a funny realization hit him - isn't that what got him in trouble in the first place? Waiting shit out, avoiding the problem, running away (or at least letting someone  _else_ run) was exactly what led to him being alone and miserable for a great portion of his life.

So he stayed. Emma had yelled until her throat was hoarse - she'd told him a hundred times by now that they needed to stop dwelling on what they couldn't change, but he'd suspected she'd been internally dwelling herself and had needed to get out that anger - but she didn't ask him to leave. She didn't point him to the couch, didn't revoke his "story time with Henry" duty for the night, didn't punish him beyond the silence he suspected was more her own exhaustion than was intended to be his punishment.

And when they crawled into bed, her back turned to him, he quietly spoke his peace. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. It is my fault, and I think I want to make up for that. Not that I can. But  _please_ , love. I want to experience laser tag. Even if Henry already has."

Emma hadn't responded with words, but she'd scooted back far enough that her legs were in line with his, and the two of them fell asleep more quickly than he'd anticipated.

 

Henry's friend had heard of a zip-lining adventure course that he'd wanted to try out, and after having minor panic attacks about it all, Emma and Killian had agreed to host his birthday party _there_. Killian was happy about it - Henry had seemed so excited - and he figured they still had nine years of parent-involved birthdays, anyway.

But his brief sadness turned out to be largely unwarranted when three days later, he was awoken with a shake and a cake in his face.

"Darling, it's Henry's first birthday!" Emma shouted, Henry dutifully playing along beside her with a big "1" taped to his shirt. "It's time for cake!" Killian’s eyes were still droopy by the time they made it to the kitchen table, but after the first of the eight rounds of "Happy Birthday" the day would hold, he was awake and alive and so very lucky to have this woman in his life, willing to go to great lengths to include him in the impossible.

The second birthday recreation was really just more cake and some Sesame Street characters and the third was mystery-laced with a Blue's Clues game, but the fourth through eighth birthdays were nothing short of amazing. They'd had to run all over the city to accomplish them all - and confused a whole lot of people when they saw Henry with a "4th birthday" hat at the overlook on the mountain - but it was everything Killian had only mildly acknowledged that he needed.

Sure, it wasn't exactly time travel. He'd never hold a two year old Henry. He'd never truly experience how  _much_  that kid had loved Blue's Clues back when it was new to him. But this version of reliving those memories was proof that they really could make up for lost time - in small ways, of course - but also that Henry and Emma both wholeheartedly _forgave_ him for not being there. They understood. Even if they ever had feelings of sadness or anger or confusion about it all - in the end, they got it. Life was far more complex than any tale that begins with "Once Upon a Time," but that in no way suggested they couldn't end with the "happily ever after."

 

And he'd felt like he already  _had_  it. Emma and Henry and him - in addition to their extended family - was enough for him. It was all he was ever going to need.

He and Emma had discussed that, early on. What he might  _need_.

"Well, what are your thoughts on kids?" she'd blurted out of nowhere one late-night phone call well before they'd resumed that activity that was required in order to make said tiny humans.

"Kids? We have Henry," was all he'd said.

"But do you want more?" 

He only paused for a split second. "No, Swan. I'd never want Henry to feel like he wasn't enough for me. He's mine, even though he's not. Don't you think?"

"Yeah," she'd agreed simply.

And that had been that.

Except, apparently it wasn't. Henry's birthday party had been incredible. Despite being slightly terrified for Henry (and a little for himself), Killian had had a smashing good time. The harnesses and ropes and safety mechanisms were all totally solid, and the obstacles and zip lines weren't nearly as terrifying as he'd built in his head. He and Emma and all the kids from Henry's school had actually had  _fun_. And had truly exhausted themselves. So after the presents and the cake and the long haul back home, the three of them had plopped down on the couch and not even bothered changing the television channel even though they'd all had just about enough of Seinfeld reruns.

Emma's eyes were closed - she looked nearly on the edge of sleep - when Henry made the jarring announcement.

"I know what I want for my tenth birthday!"

Emma's eyes shot open, confusion marring her features. "Kid, it's 365 days away. I think you'll probably change your mind before then."

"No I won't. And it takes a long time to make, I think. So I  _have_  to ask now."

"What, are you looking for a custom-built car? Because I can arrange that, but not for about five and a half more years," Killian joked, patting Henry's leg.

"No, I want a sister. Or brother. Whichever, really."

Emma's eyes went wider than he'd ever seen and his own eyebrows knitted together so tight he thought they might dislodge from his face, and nothing really had prepared him for such a request, especially not  _today_.

"Henry... I - we... What do you mean?" Emma stammered, her eyes flitting over to Killian's every few seconds, despite her attempt to maintain eye contact with her son.

"I mean, I want you guys to have a baby. Why haven't you yet? It doesn't make much sense. You're married and you love each other and I would think it would be time by now."

Emma paused, reaching out for Henry’s hand and squeezing. "Well, Henry, we already have you. Why would we need anything else?" Emma lovingly ran her other palm down Henry's cheek, using her thumb at his chin to keep him looking at her. "We're already a family."

"I know that," Henry rolled his eyes in a move he undoubtedly learned from his mother. "But I want a bigger family. Don't you?"

That's when both sets of eyes fell on Killian's. He'd been silent until now, just taking in the odd turn of events. Sure, he'd love to have more children with Emma. They certainly spent enough time  _practicing_. But the thought had never _seriously_ crossed his mind. He couldn't imagine how much it might hurt Henry to have him worry that the child who was "really" Killian's would get more attention. So he'd just taken that consideration off the table entirely.

(And never once thought of all the opportunity he'd be missing.)

When Killian  _still_  didn't respond, Emma shuffled Henry off to bed, placating him with some version of "we'll think about it," and she'd hopped in the shower before Killian had found his voice again.

He could have waited for her to get done. And he probably should have. But his sense had left him when that door he'd slammed shut in his mind long before had crept back open unexpectedly.

"Swan?" She was humming and rinsing her hair when she noticed that he'd entered the bathroom.

"Yes?" Her tone was hesitant, perhaps even worried. He'd hoped to clear the air before his silence left Emma's mind foggier than their vanity mirror.

"Do you want one?"

"A shower?" She deadpanned. "Yes, that's why I'm in here."

"You know what I'm asking, Emma."

She wrung out her hair and switched off the water, ripping open the curtain and reaching toward the towel rack. 

"Honestly? Yes. Growing up alone at first and then an only child after I  _did_  find my parents, I'd always wanted siblings. And I'd wanted to give that to Henry. But I'd thought you were right, back when I'd asked the first time. I wouldn't want those siblings to be a subject of sad rather than happy. So I thought you were right in not contemplating them at all. But - but, I think we were _wrong_. The kid - well, the kid is smarter than we are, and the sooner we accept that, the better off we are." Something on his face must have reassured her that she wasn't alone in her thoughts, because her tone was so light, so free by the end. 

"So yes?"

"Yes."

 

**I live in constant debt / to feel you / invented**

 

Pregnancy was the fucking  _worst_. She'd almost forgotten that part.

It had been so long since she'd done it, first of all. And second, the rest of her life had been such a mess around Henry's arrival that the swollen feet, the bruised ribs, the constant back and forth between  _I need all the food_  and  _food is the fucking devil_  hadn't really seemed all that bad. Not compared to the loss of Killian, the pain of bringing a kid into the world without his father, the uncertainty of her future.

But now she was downright spoiled. She had literally  _everything_. Her life was as close to a fairy tale as this idiotic world would allow and her doting husband and adorable caretaker son were making sure that every single thing she could want or need was hers.

Everything except making the baby just fucking  _get here already_.

 

She was only a few days overdue. It wasn't uncommon and there wasn't any danger, really. Not yet. But she was miserable and disgusting and just wanted to meet her other son (yes, it was a boy - she was going to drown in a sea of testosterone if she didn't at least adopt a female dog or something soon) as soon as humanly possible.

To their credit, her boys had  _tried_. Henry walked with her constantly and read her articles about exercises and stretches that would encourage his brother to show himself. And Killian cooked every spicy meal he could think of in attempts to induce her. 

But nothing was working. As with the rest of her life, she was stuck  _waiting_.

She took out her anger on Killian sometimes, snapping when he did so much as leave a  _sock_  on the floor. And she tried to ground Henry for a B- he was already crying about. She'd apologize after every unnecessary outburst, and they'd take it in stride, but she was getting sick of having to apologize.

Didn't the world owe her some cooperation at this point? She'd watched the love of her life almost  _die_. She'd watched him be ripped apart by people who didn't even know him. She'd suffered the media, the Navy, the fallout of having to walk away from that life. She lived with the years of loneliness and tension and pain of knowing he was out there and apparently  _not_  looking for her. She'd raised her kid mostly alone and she'd risen through the ranks at the police force all on her own, kicking and screaming against the world that seemed determined to make her suffer. Hadn't she earned  _one less day_  of carrying an extra person inside her body?

(It had always felt like she was carrying more than one life, metaphorically, but the literal truth of it was  _worse_.)

She was about ten seconds from losing her shit on her doctor's office's automated menu robot, when she finally, blessedly, began feeling that pain that wouldn't compare to anything else in her life.

A contraction.

"Killian! Henry!" she screamed, slamming down her phone and practically breaking the screen in the process. The two of them probably hadn't even paused their video game, they were thundering down the stairs so quickly. 

"Is it time? Is it time?" Henry shouted, bouncing up and down.

"Yeah, kid. It's time," she assured him, taking a hand of each of theirs to squeeze as the contraction threatened to rip her in two. 

"Well, love, let's get our things together and go meet this little man." Killian motioned for Henry to grab the overnight bag from next to the door, in addition to Emma's shoes.

Once the contraction had subsided, Killian pulled her into an awkward but sweet embrace, seeming to pour all of his calm into her in attempt to help her get through the next god knows how many hours and holy damn, some crazy amounts of pain. He leaned in and kissed her sweetly, Henry not even bothering to chastise their "grossness" in moment he must have deemed an _exception_.

"I am yours," Killian whispered against her lips, smiling as Emma continued to squeeze his poor hand, despite the pain being much less. "And yours," he turned and said to Henry, patting his shoulder as he took Emma's bag from the overly excited ten year-old. "And yours, too," he said against her belly, dipping down to kiss it one last time before they piled in the car to go to the hospital.

 _Yeah, all that pain might have been worth it_ , Emma thought,  _if only to lead us here._


End file.
